


war dogs (can learn new tricks)

by psycho_raven



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Early FoxHound era, First Meetings, M/M, happy valentine's day tho, i don't know if this is fluff or angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 09:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psycho_raven/pseuds/psycho_raven
Summary: It's almost a confession when Fox tells Snake he wouldn’t visit his grave.(For the MGS winter challenge, the theme was dogs!)





	war dogs (can learn new tricks)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to the FoxHound team for helping me with my english! I can't believe I have never wrote any Fox/Solid, it's been so long and they are still one of my OTPs for the game. So have this! I promise next time there will be kisses, and happy valentine's day!

 

 

The barricade stinks with a mix of gunpowder, blood, and sweat. Snake is covered in all three of them, but by now he has gotten used to it. It's part of the thrill of the battlefield, they say. More dangerous than any other drug; addictive, almost sexual like the rush of blood he feels any time the gun fires and the weight of a body hitting the floor makes dust rise before his eyes.  
  
He should feel fear, but it doesn't strike him. It's more of the adrenaline and the instinct to stay alive. He counts his munitions and wishes he believed in some god because the odds are against him with the carnal ferocity of war and it is usually god who helps the less fortunate.  
  
He likes to think that his codename being the same Big Boss used in the cold war is not a coincidence. That he is capable of things, even being a rookie. That he _can_ and _will_ survive--  
  
That's what this is about, he thinks. About survival. His hands don't shake when he holds the gun, the cold metal against his hot skin is almost pleasurable. The desert sun doesn't forgive anyone, it blinds and it eats you from inside out. But Snake crawls inside the barricade and waits because that's what Snakes do.  

It’s only a moment, a few seconds feeling like a lifetime.

The first time is like lightning, a flash that leaves you not knowing what happened, why you are in the middle of the street with the rain pouring on your head.

Gray Fox moves between gunshots and explosions with such grace, it seems almost inappropriate to find something so deadly that beautiful. Snake notices he doesn't carry any gun, just a knife in his white hand and a professional look into his eyes.

There is nothing personal about the slaughter that Fox commits. Just his work. The tips of his hair stained with blood, just like a painting which colors stays inside your head forever, the contrast between white and red are engraved into Snake’s mind.

Then he looks at his back and Snake is still frozen behind him, his eyes wide open in a mix of terror and admiration.

  
"Good job, rookie."

  
"I didn't do anything."

  
"Staying alive is enough, sometimes."

 

\---

 

It’s not true, actually. The first time Snake saw Fox wasn't in a ray of glory in the middle of the battlefield, bathed in gold from the desert sun.  
  
It was a normal day in Foxhound, picking lunch at the cafeteria. Fox looked almost normal, Snake remembers, if it wasn't for that dangerous edge in his eyes. Snake thought he was too handsome for a soldier, too. But then he saw him order some hamburgers and it looked so mundane it almost made him laugh.

When they meet in the cabins, the time after their first mission together, Fox tells him that it's a better story to tell the rest. A fated meeting while facing death.

"But that’s not the truth."

"We don't even know our real names, Snake. Do you think anyone here cares about what is true?"

"I do."

  
"You are a lost cause."

 

\---

 

  
The partial truth is another; the first time Snake really, truly saw Fox was on the battlefield. Suddenly he doesn't get why they call soldiers 'dogs' because Fox seems something much more. As if his real name was Fox because his parents knew that he was meant for big things, deadly big things within the battlefield, making his way of playing with the knife between his fingers a form of art. A choreography Snake couldn't take his eyes off.  
  
Snake wants to thank him but doesn't know how. They don't speak until both are on the base, and before Snake can say anything, Fox is gone.  
  
There was a myth about Foxhound being haunted, and Fox being its personal favorite ghost.

 

\---

 

"You like dogs, Snake?"

They are outside the training building and it's starting to snow. Snake is a man of routine, he likes to feed the dogs after the usual training session. Still sweaty and tired, sometimes frustrated because he still can't grasp that CQC movement and Fox makes it look so easy. But the dogs always cheer him up, waiting for his arrival.  
  
This time Fox is waiting with them, scratching behind their ears with a smile. His expression is soft, relaxed, and like that he looks less soldier and more like something else. Maybe a professional skater under the bright lights of the ice rink, seconds before he does magic. Or maybe a man of science, a teacher strict but full of things to say, smart things that come from experience. Fox is a bit of both things for Snake, he realizes. Snake doesn't know exactly why but the realization seems dangerous to him.  
  
"Huh?"

  
"I was asking if you like dogs, they were waiting for you to arrive."

  
"Ah, yes. Good company and good judges of character."

  
"I don't think so, they seem to like me."

  
"That's what I'm saying, Fox."

  
He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes and the soldier facade comes back, leaving a bittersweet taste in Snake mouth.

 

\---

 

They have a private cemetery for the Foxhound personnel.

  
Some of the recruits have families waiting for them somewhere far from there. They show pictures and letters to each other. Write songs and poems about wives and kids waiting for them in homes that blend under their nostalgic gaze to make something marvelous of everything that is far. For them, whatever the family wants to do with their cold dead bodies is the priority. For people like Snake and Fox, there is the Foxhound private cemetery.

The graveyard always looks clean and polished. It's almost unsettling but everything inside the facility is that way. In the stone, there is usually only one date and a codename. Real names and birthdays are left behind, with homes and families. Because if you don't have those, you surely don't have the former.

Snake likes to visit those graveyard because no one does it. There is a common rumor that the easiest way of finding Big Boss is not coming at his office but at the cemetery. Maybe because for people like him, old veterans that seem to have invented war, graveyards are where their job is.

He doesn't believe them. He truly thinks that Big Boss cares, kindness still in his heart. Fox is his right hand, after all. And Fox looks after the new recruits even when he doesn't bother to memorize their names. He must have learned that from him. And the stories about his compassion are almost as frequent as the ones about his ferocity.

That's why it doesn't surprise him when he finds Fox wandering among the graves.

"Visiting someone?"

"Didn't know his name." Fox doesn't look at him, just stops on his foot and looks at the tombstone in front of him. "I think we shared a table on the cafeteria once. A rookie like you."

Snake doesn't say anything, then Fox turns and his expression is inscrutable.

"You could have been like this. But there is something in your eyes." Fox doesn't say that it reminds him of-- "You will make it. So I learned your name, because it’s worth it."

  
"I told you, that's not my real name."

  
"No, it isn't. But I already know that you like dogs. You like to read too. Don't you? Caught you the other day with Farewell to the Arms in the lobby."  
  
Snake looks almost embarrassed, then Fox crosses the distance between them and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Good choice." It's somehow flattering, especially because he has never see Fox say so many words to anyone who isn't Big Boss.

"It was the dog thing. Gave me a good feeling, rookie."

  
He leaves the same way he came. Unseen. Snake wonders if it means they are friends now.

 

\---

 

It's almost a confession when Fox tells Snake he wouldn’t visit his grave. The next words come bluntly from his mouth, it’s a rush,  an answer for that declaration: “David.” The air between them is light, their eyes meet and they see each other with hurtful clarity. “That’s my real name.” The room is suddenly filled with the electric soothing vibration of the anticipation, the realization that they will never be the same.  
  
“David, huh. It means beloved.

  
Mine is Frank.”

  
And the most important thing of all:

  
“It fits you.”

  
They go to feed the dogs together this time. Fox remembers Big Boss telling him: _Don’t get involved, don’t bring feelings to the equation. It never ends in a good way_. And he knows Big Boss is always right, but he also knows that sometimes the mistake is worth it.  
  
He really does learn new things from the Snakes. And they say a old dog can’t learn new tricks. Maybe that’s why he is a fox.  
  
Snake doesn’t care about old fashioned rules about hiding names and keeping a prudent safe distance. He smiles at him as if they didn’t meet with their hands full of blood, and makes Fox believe for a few seconds that life can be that simple.  
  
(It’s feels _almost_ like a first date.)

 

\---

 

 

It was different for them, being more than friends. They say they’re best friends, a strange category to belong to with the kinds of lives they have, but it felt good to hold something dear.

  
Snake understands that years later, a bit too late but he believes it’s better having answers. To know that you were loved.

 

 

 


End file.
